


Lost and Found

by Shadow1879



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Homesickness, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Separation Anxiety, Stockholm Syndrome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-07-06 17:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow1879/pseuds/Shadow1879
Summary: Scott McCall was never bitten by Peter Hale but the man still caught sight of Stiles Stilinski. He decides to take Stiles and use him to complete his revenge against those who killed his family. After that, the two skip town, Peer dragging a reluctant Stiles the entire way. Now that Peter's mind has returned he realizes how much he likes the boy.Now that he has him, he might never give him up.





	1. Missing

Chapter one: Missing

 

When stiles allowed himself to think about it, which wasn’t often, he always tried to remember where it all went wrong. Wrong, wrong, so terribly wrong.

               

When was the exact moment that it all started? He was the son of the Sheriff, he was supposed to be smarter than that. Smarter then this, but the man seemed normal, nice. He had seemed so innocent.

               

_God, he was so stupid._

               

He had been a freakin’ murder. How had he been that stupid?

             

   _He wasn’t stupid anymore._

              

  He wanted to go home. Tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t cry. He never cried anymore. He missed home. He missed his Dad. Missed the hugs they used to share. Hugs that seemed to make everything better. He missed Scott and all the trouble they used to get into, he missed Melissa. She gave good hugs too. He thought back to that day. The last day he had spent with them.

              

  It was right after a lacrosse game. They had all been standing around talking, Scott and Melissa were smiling, and his dad was laughing. They were joking about the game.

 

 “Dude you had Lydia cheering for you, _Lydia!”_

               

Scott laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners, “It was a lucky shot.”

               

Stiles snorted, “Lucky shot my ass, you practiced every day this summer.”

               

Scott blushed, “So, did you man.”

              

  “Well yeah, but we both know that the coach will never let me off the bench. He’s afraid of what will happen to the other team if my power is unleashed.”

              

  His dad had smiled at that and threw an arm around his shoulders, “I would be more concerned about what would happen to you,”

               

They all laughed. He missed laughing.

               

Then the scanner in his father’s car went off. Maybe that was when it went all wrong. He remembered watching his dad speak into the radio. It was a B&B across town, anonymous call.

              

  _It was a distraction. A wild goose chase that would keep his dad busy till morning. If he had only new…_

              

  He remembered complaining when his dad pulled him in for a hug but hugging him back none the less. He remembered waving as the cruiser pulled away, his Dad yelling at the window. Telling him to be safe.

            

    _He had tried, but it was too late then._

              

  He remembered saying goodnight to Malissa, fist bumping Scott and them walking away.

_He should have hugged them both._

              

  He remembered turning and walking to the back of the now deserted parking lot. Thinking about stupid stuff like the game and how sickening it was to watch Lydia make-out with Jackson. He was thinking about normal things. He remembered clamoring up into his jeep and starting it and heading home.

              

  He remembered being surprised when is crappy but dependable jeep clunkered down the road and then just stopped. The gas gage was reading empty. He remembered jumping out and starting down the road. He was only a mile or so from his house.

              

  _He should have stayed in the car._

              

  Honestly, that was the last thing he remembered from that day. Walking down the road heading home. It wasn’t far, and besides this was Beacon Hills. Nothing ever happened here.

             

   _He was wrong._

               

Then nothing. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t summon any memories after that point. That was the point that it ended. His normal life, his family, his friends, it was all gone. One minute he is walking down the rad and the next nothing. Just blackness.

               

A week later the second murder would take place. Then the third. The police would start scanning over the murder scenes trying to find any clue to what’s going on. And all they would ever find is human footprints and rope.

              

  _Peter had taken away his shoes after his first attempt at running._

               

It all didn’t make sense. To outsiders looking in it was a gruesome case, where there seemed to be no pattern. If they only knew what he knew. Then maybe he wouldn’t still be here.

                …..

             

   “ _The case of the Beacon Hills Murders has the police baffled. After four deaths, arson, and the disappearance of comatose Peter Hale and local boy Stiles Stilinski, the crimes seemed to have stopped. Leaving this town burdened with fear, and the police buried with questions.“_

Stiles snorted, comatose his ass.

             

   The reporter continued listing off the known facts of the case and stiles started to bounce his leg.

             

   _Come on, come on._

               

He didn’t have much time left. He was going to be back any second.

              

  _“The boy’s father, Sheriff Stilinski, along with family friends, Melissa and Scott McCall came forward to say this.”_

Stiles leaned forward smiling when his father came onto the screen, along with Scott and Melissa. His father looked tired, worn down, as did Melissa. He hated that they were going through this. Scott looked good. His hair was cut giving him an older look, but he too had bags under his eyes. He watched as his father looked into the camera.

              

  “ _Stiles, if your still out there, I just want you to know that I won’t stop looking for you. I- I love you so much and I won’t stop until I have you back here. Either with me or with your Mom. I won’t stop, ever-“ The Sheriff broke off and turned away wiping his eyes, his shoulders shaking._

           

Stiles clenched his teeth; his father was giving up. Not on finding him, no he believed his dad would never stop looking, but on finding him alive.

               

He watched as Melissa stepped forward with an arm around Scott, “ _Stiles, I loved you like my own son and I always will. If you somehow can hear this then I hope you believe me when I say that we will always look for yo-“ she cut off as well. Her usually no-nonsense brown eyes filling with tears._

 

Scott wrapped an arm around her as she wiped under her eyes. She turned and walked toward the Sheriff giving him a hug and leaving Scott in front of the camera.

 

Scott stuck his hands in his pockets, he was silent for a couple of seconds before he looked at the camera and for a moment I was like their eyes locked.

 

_“_ _Stiles bud I miss ya. Sometimes, I swear I still hear you in the halls and see you on the bench at the games. Every day, I walk into school, I still expect to see your crappy jeep in_ _the parking lot. I Still expect you to be leaning up against my locker because you always got there first- “_

 

He broke off for a minute before pulling himself back together, “ _Buddy you will always be my Brother and I will never forget you,”_

 

With that, he joined his dad and Melissa and they all hugged before the camera cut off them, showing a school pic of Stiles and giving contact info to call if anyone has seen him. Then they went to the next missing person case.

Stiles sat there perfectly still.

 

They thought he was dead. Last month his father still spoke to him but now it seemed more like a broken promise to a memory. Melissa and Scott hadn’t even tried to hide it, talking to him in past tense. They thought he was dead.

 

His hand gripped the remote in a white-knuckled grip.

 

_He wasn’t dead._

               

Stiles' head whipped toward the door when he heard the car pull up.

               

“Shit!” turning he fumbled with the remote pushing frantically at the power button until the television finally blinked off.

              

  Outside a car door slammed.

               

Stiles carefully put the remote back where he found it, Peter hated when things were unorganized. Then bolted to the stairs. Running up them two at a time, then tearing down the hallway, and skidding into what was designated his room just as he heard the front door start to open. Stiles quickly pushed his own door shut and scrambled across the room.

               

He waited. Striving to hear something but the man moved so silently that after the heavy front door shut there was nothing for his ears to grasp on to. He waited and sure enough, he heard the stairs creak. The third and six ones were loose, and there was no way of stepping on it without it making some sound. Stiles took a deep breath and watched as the handle of his door turned and swung open.

 

Revealing a former coma patient, leaning against the opening, “Hello Stiles,”

               

The boy gulped, “H-hi Peter.”

               

The man smirked, his flawless face twisting in a familiar smug expression, “How was your day?”

               

Stiles licked his lips and looked around his ‘room’, “It was fine.”

                 

Peter nodded, gaze piercing into him. “Mine was productive.” His voice came out silky, smooth but Stiles knew better. He backed up a step, watching the man with weary eyes.

               

Peter pushed off the doorframe but braced and back-upped a step, raising a brow at the boy, “I even bought back Chinese.”

               

Stiles stopped his retreat suddenly uncertain. Peter knew he liked Chinese, he had stated the fact during one of his long one-sided rants. At first, Stiles just assumed that the man just ignored him. Letting his clumsy words drift through one ear and out the other but now he knew better. Peter was constantly listening, watching, sensing what was going on around him. The man was like a machine never stopping.

               

Stiles also knew that Peter only brought Stiles stuff when he wanted something in return. After a while, Stiles just stop taking what was offered. Not that it helped him much.

              

  “I- I’m….um, not hungry.” The words, thin, frail things came out stuttered.

              

  Peter tilted his head, one finger coming up to tap his chin, “Did you just lie to me, Stiles?”

              

  The boy vigorously shook his head. No, no, he wasn’t lying. He didn’t want the food. He didn’t want to get dragged into whatever Peter’s plans were. All he wanted was to go home.

               

Peter sighed looking unimpressed, “Stiles we both know your starving, even if I couldn’t detect your lie your stomach would have given you away.”

               

As if on command his stomach growled.

               

Stiles twisted his hands together while backing up a step, “I don’t want the food.”

               

An eyebrow rose, “Its Chinese, you like Chinese.”

 

He ground his teeth and didn’t say anything looking way. He had learned not to try and out talk Peter, the man was always seemed to know what he was going to say, but….

 

“I’m just not hungry.”

 

Peter huffed, his faced looking slightly put upon. Pinching the bridge of his nose he leaned against the doorway again, “Stiles.”

 

That’s all he said but it had another world of meaning.

 

Stiles didn’t want to press his luck, so he looked down, then back at Peter watching as he stepped away from the doorway. “Now.”

 

Stiles huffed but walked forward, passing by Peter and heading down the stairs. He could feel Peter following behind him but that didn’t freak him out like it used to. He walked steadily passed the doorway into the living room, keeping his breathing natural and calm. Heading straight towards the kitchen.

 

_Please, please don’t notice._

 

He closed his eyes when he felt Peter pause by the living room entryway.

 

_God dammit._

 

“Stiles.” Peter sounded disappointed.

 

Stiles paused mid-step, “Yes, Peter?”

 

He listened but didn’t hear anything, nearly jumping out of his skin when the man spoke next to his ear a second later.

 

“Please tell me you didn’t turn on the television while I was gone.”

 

Stiles held his tongue. Of course, his first response was to lie but lying to Peter was akin to cutting your own throat. Messy and stupid. So, he stayed silent like he always did.

 

Peter stayed, silent as well, waiting.

 

The teenager started fidgeting, then he turned around, facing Peter.

 

“Sorry.” It came out a  whisper.

 

Peter’s eyes sharpened, and he growled. “What did I say about lying to me?”

 

Stiles flinched and stepped back. He knew what was coming, he broke a rule. Now he was going to lose everything.

 

He sighed before saying in a quiet voice, “I’ll go wait in my room”

 

He started to walk passed Peter, towards the stairs.

 

Peter’s warm hand curled around his bicep, hauling him to a stop, then all but dragging him into the kitchen.

 

“No, I bought the damn food, you’re not wasting it.” His voice was irritated but not angry which could be a good sign. It depended.

 

Stiles sat on his stool in the kitchen as Peter put food in front of him. They didn’t talk, both thinking about different things. Stiles was trying very hard not to think. He simply ate, then dumped his trash and washed his silverware before sitting back at his stool. He wants allowed to leave until Peter was finished as well. So, he sat there ‘not thinking’ and drinking the soda Peter got for him until the older man was finished.

 

Stiles jumped off his stool and headed towards the door the second Peter took the last bite.

 

“Stiles.”

 

The boy paused, looking back to see Peter throw his trash away, then locking eyes with the boy.

 

“We will talk about your punishment tomorrow,”

 

Stiles hung his head.

 

Yeah, that’s what he figured.

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Lost

Chapter Two

 

Stiles awoke to the feeling of sunlight hitting his face and the warmth of his blankets surrounding him. It was comfortable and all he really wanted to do was stay in bed all day. Just lie here and forget that he isn’t his house or his bed, he tried to imagine it. Imagined listening to his father get ready to go to work, he would smell coffee drifting up from downstairs and here his father's boots as he walked his way around the kitchen.

He never understood that. His father would get dressed in his uniform right down to his boots. early in the morning. He never understood why he wouldn’t just wait until he had to leave to put them on, but then again, the man lived and breathed to be in that uniform. It was his life’s passion. Stiles didn’t have a life’s passion, or at least he didn’t back then. Now his future goal was to see his father again; to hug him again.

_Just one more time._

However, now he would have to wait until next month. It seemed years away, decades even but Stiles _would_ wait. If this nightmare had taught him anything it was to have patience.

Just as that thought drifted through his head he opened his eyes. As he blinked the ceiling came into focus, a stark example that he wasn’t back at home. This ceiling was a sheet of white unmarred. Clean. Fresh. New. Back home, in his old room, the ceiling had water stains in the top right corner and peeling glow-in-the=dark stars scattered sporadically around from his ‘I’m going to be an Astronaut’ phase. It was old, imperfect he liked it that way.

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like how Peter was erasing everything it was to be him. Peter like order and precision, two things that Stiles lacked. He wasn’t orderly; in fact, he was the opposite. He was chaotic and hyperactive. He hated when his mom used to clean his room because then his things weren’t where he wanted them. He had a temper and tended to snap at the flip of a hat and he never _ever_ followed a schedule. _Ever._

Now he cleaned up after himself and did his own laundry before it piled up. He washed his own dishes right after he was finished with them and put made sure to hang his towel back up after he showered. Every hour of his day was planned and even weekends had a strict systematic structure set in place. He missed lying in bed all day, playing video games way too late, and surfing the web for hours. All those activities were band here. Lying in bed all day was lazy and both video games and the web have access to the rest of the world which means Stiles wasn’t allowed either.

The boy sighed and looked over at his alarm clock. It was one of the few electronic items he was allowed, not that it did much for him. Its only function was telling the time. That’s all it did, nothing else. He watched as the seconds then the minutes went by almost in a daze. He had woken up early today. Just as the time blinked seven-thirty, Peter appeared in his open doorway. He wasn’t allowed to close his door while he slept, not after he had tried to climb out the window. Yeah, not one of his brighter decisions.

Peter was already dressed in his work clothes, a grey suit, bright blue shirt that made his eyes shine all the brighter, and black shoes. In total the outfit probably cost more then his house did. Hell, the pajamas that Stiles was currently wearing probable caused more then he would care to know. Peter didn’t know the meaning of cheap and most likely never stepped foot in a Walmart. 

Peter leaned against the doorframe and fixed the cuffs on his shirt, “Your up”

Stiles glared at him and rolled over, “It’s Saturday.”

Yes, he was whining. Did he care, no?

Peter already treated him like he was six.

Why not act like it?

It was Saturday and while he still wasn’t allowed to sleep in like he would normally do, he could sleep until eight-fifteen. That was only on Saturdays and Sundays. Every other day it was seven-thirty on the dot.

“Yes, but that was before you decided to break the rules, yesterday. Get up.” His voice was neutral. That made him even more nervous for what was to come.

Stiles closed his eyes and curled into a ball, he didn’t want to deal with this.

He heard a sigh, then, “Come on, don’t make this worse by being a brat.”

His lips twisted.

What could be worse than being cut off from everything for another month?

He doubted anything, but he still threw his blankets back and rolled out of bed. Might as well get this over with.

Peter nodded at him, “Lets’ go.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and followed as they walked down the hall and descended the stairs, but instead of going to the living room like they normally would go after stiles touched the tv, Peter headed towards the kitchen.

Stiles faltered for a second. What was going on?

Peter looked over his shoulder, “Now Stiles.”

Stiles swallowed. This wasn’t right. Why was Peter going off script?

He slowly made his way towards the kitchen feeling hesitant at what was to come. That feeling only amplified when he turned the corner and saw the high- definition flat=screen tv sitting on the marble countertop. It’s cord dangling uselessly off the surface. He looked at Peter, then the tv, twisting his hands together.

Peter was standing right next to it looking at Stiles the neutral expression staring him down.

“How many chances have I  previously given you when it comes to the television, Stiles?”

He licked his lips tugging on his fingers, his heart beginning to jackhammer in his chest. He tried to think “Um, three?”

Peter nodded, “So this was your fourth time breaking the rules?”

Stiles jerked his head up in down when Peter continued to stare at him instead of going on. Yes, this was the fourth month he had been here. Not, since he was missing, mind you but how long he’s been in this house.

“And what did I say the last time you broke the rule?” his voice was smooth, it was distracting.

The boy rubbed the back of his neck, trying to control his breathing, “Not to do it again,”

Sharp blue eyes, scrutinized him, “Why?”

“Be-because I wouldn’t like w-what would ha-a-ppen.” His lips were trembling, it was getting hard to talk.

Peter nodded on hand lifting off the counter to rest on top of the screen, “So, I did warn you, and this shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

Stiles shivered, it felt like ice was just infused into his veins.

He still didn’t know what Peter was planning. The last time Stiles was punished it had gone slightly different but nothing drastic changed. Everything he had earned up to that point was stripped away. There was no tv, no board games, no books. He was secluded in his room with nothing but the blue walls to stare at.

Sometimes he wished Peter would just hurt him. Just hit him or something,  but the man was smart and knew that even a few days with nothing to do would be torture for anyone with ADHD. Now a whole week was hell. After the week was up he could leave his room and from then on, he was slowly able to gain back everything he lost.

Including the television.

 Watching tv wasn’t against the rules. Watching tv without Peter’s permission however, was. So, he would by his time, wait for the last Friday of the month, then turn it on. All for just five minutes footage of his father. Last time followed the routine to the letter. The only difference was Peter saying that one sentence.

_“Stiles, if you break this rule again,” the man paused making sure he was listening, “You won’t like what happens, got it?”_

Stiles whimpered, “Peter, I’m sorry.”

The wolf, simply shook his head, face clear of any emotion, “No, you’re not. That’s the problem.”

And with that, Peter destroyed Stiles world in one fluid motion.

Really it wasn’t even a big movement, he just flicked his wrist.

“NO!”

In that moment it seemed like the whole world went into slow motion. Stiles senses heightened. His scream was torn from his throat violently as he watched his only way of seeing his family get pushed off the counter like it was nothing.

He tried to move forward but somehow Peter made it across the kitchen to where he was standing, grabbing him around the waist and holding him back. Stiles' feet left the ground as he tried to fight to stop what was going to happen, Peter taking his weight without so much as a grunt. Just holding him there as he fought. Wriggling this way and that.

He watched it fell through the air before on corner hit the ground. Then stiles couldn’t watch anymore. He closed his eyes as another scream clawed its way out of his abused throat, but that didn’t drown out the sound of glass shattering and plastic breaking. When he opened his eyes, the tech was lying in separate pieces.

_I can fix it. I can fix it._

Stiles threw an elbow back, hitting Peter in the face. The older man let out a grunt and dropped him. Stiles' knees hit the ground and he crawled across the floor, uncaring that glass was scattered across the smooth kitchen floor.

Tears were streaming down his face, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

He started blindly picking up pieces and putting them into a small pile.

_I can fix it_

Arms surrounded him and started to pull him away. Stiles screamed kicking and clawing until he hit a soft spot and the arms released him again _._ This happened three times, Stiles didn’t care if he sounded more animal then man. His only focus was on fixing the tv.

After the third time, Peter sighed, “Stiles, it's destroyed you can’t fix it.”

Stiles didn’t acknowledge him, he swept his hand across the floor trying to collect all the glass.

_I can fix it._

Peter tried one more time to remove the boy from the glass covered floor, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder instead of around his waist. Stiles turned on him again, this time sinking his teeth into Peters' hand. Blood coated the inside of his mouth, the coppery taste making him want to gag. He released the hand almost immediately which was a good thing because Peter yanked back.

“Son of a Bitch!”

Stiles was distantly aware of Peter reaching over and snagging a kitchen towel from the counter, wiping at the blood on his hand before it could drip onto his suit. He heard the man sigh sounding resigned.

“Fine, stay down there, I have to go to work. We’ll deal with this when I get back.”

Stiles didn’t look at him. He just continued sweeping pieces into a pile. He didn’t stop when Peter left the room, or when he walked out of the house, or when the car started and rolled out of the driveway. He didn’t stop, when the clocked chimed, eight, or when it chimed nine, or ten. He tried for hours. Trying to shove the screen back together cutting his fingers on the glass. As time went on his movements went from frantic to slow. He didn’t actually know when his movements stopped altogether.

He couldn’t fix it.

And when that thought finally broke through his spasmed movements, he screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until his voice gave out and he couldn’t scream anymore. That didn’t stop the tears, however. Or the sobbing. His voice giving out didn’t stop him when he grabbed a piece of the television and chucked it across the room, but eventually, that ended too, and he just sank to the floor, curling into himself.

It was gone.

It was all gone.

Peter had officially taken everything that Stiles once had away from him.

_“Stiles I won’t stop looking for your  body.”_

_“Buddy you’ll always be a brother to me, and I will never forget you.”_

_“Stiles, I loved you like my own son.”_

No, no, no, no, no, no.

He cried, and he cried, and he cried, until that stopped as well. After that he just laid there, small droplets of tears and blood surrounding him.

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

Stiles lay there for hours. He watched the bloody streaks on the floor turn pink after mixing with the tears, then dry when the sun splayed through the window above the sink. Then he focused on the sun itself. Watching as shadows receded as the sunlight moved across the floor. Sounds were coming to him slightly muffled, while his heartbeat was loud and clear. His ragged breaths sounding like a saw across a log. Through that, he distantly heard a car pull up. Then the front door open and shut and footsteps padding softly down the hall.

Peter was home.

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to move, he simply watched shiny black shoes walk into the kitchen from his curled position. Over the sound of his breathes he heart a sigh. Then the shoes walked over, stepping over the broken shards of the tv and around him. Then arms wormed their way under his body and around his waist. Pulling him up.

“Come on, Baby.”

Stiles felt like he couldn’t focus on anything.

Peter picked him up cradling him in his arms and walking through the house, but Stiles didn’t react. He didn’t react when Peter set him on the bathroom counter and washed the blood off his hands, or when he pulled the glass out of his right palm. He didn’t react when Peter wrapped gauze around his hands or when he carried him up to his room.

Placing him on the bed, Peter walked over to his dresser and pulled pajamas out of the top drawer. He handed them to Stiles. Stiles looked at the pajamas and then at the ones he was still currently wearing. They had blood on them.

Taking the PJ’s, he walked into the bathroom and put them on, throwing his dirty pair into the hamper. Walking back out, he ignored Peter and flopped on the bed curling into a ball and closing his eyes.

Behind him, Peter sighed, “Stiles, I gave you four shots.”

Stiles’ eyes flashed open. He slowly pushed himself up and faced Peter. The man was leaning against the dresser. Right in front of Stiles.

Blue eyes clashed with amber and for a second they just stared at each other. Then Stiles lunched or tied to. Peter was gone winding around the teenager and picking him up again, carting him to the bed.

“Let go of me you basted! Let me go!”

“Stiles stop, right now.” Authority rang in the voice.

Normally this would cause Stiles to stop. He would be a good little captive and listen. Well, screw that. That had gotten him nowhere except stick here for four months. He was done listening and obeying.

“Fuck you, Asshole!” Stiles kicked back and clawed at the arms wrapped around his.

Peter collapsed back onto the bed, bringing the teen with him. Then somehow maneuvering himself so that his back was to the headboard and Stiles was struggling against his chest.

“You took everything from me!” Stiles fought as Peter pinned his hands a crossed his chest. “You took my family, my friends, everything!”

Peter hummed but otherwise didn’t say anything. He simply held Stiles down, allowing him to thrash and scream the best he could without hurting himself.

Tears and snot were dripping down Stiles' face, as he panted. Twisting this way and that, trying to kick at Peter but never seeming to be able to make an impact. He fought and fought until his collapsed against the older man in exhaustion.

He sniffed, eyes squeezing shut, “I hate you. I hate you. I _hate_ you.”

Peter wrapped himself around stiles tighter, “Shhhhhh, it’s okay.”

Stiles shook his head, his broken voice shaking, “It’s not okay.”

Peter was quite for a moment, “No, I suppose it's not, is it?” He sounded tired. “But Stiles this is what Life is now, for you and me.”

He shook his head, “You could let me go. Please, Peter.” he sniffed, tears leaking out, “I want to go home.”

He opened his eyes focusing on the arms wrapping around him tight and getting tighter the second Stiles spoke.

He hadn’t asked for his freedom in months. Not once since the moment, they left beacon hills. There was a reason. An important reason.

“You promised, you promised I could go back.”

Peter always kept his promises. Even if it took eight years.

The hair around his ears shifted as Peter blew out a sigh, this caused Stiles to shiver. He was cold, he didn’t like being cold.

“I did, but not right now.”

Shifting his wrist to one hand, he rubbed the other up and down his side, calming him.

“Not right now.”

Stiles whined low in his throat, “But Pe-“

“Stiles.” The stern voice made him flinch.

“I said not right now.”

The hand continued to rub the boy’s side, “Go to sleep.”

Stiles shook his head. Trying to wiggle out of Peter’s arms, to no avail.

Peter held him steady and eventually Stiles' eyes got heavy.

He was exhausted, he stopped struggling and against his better judgment sank into the man’s warmth. He might hate Peter. Hate everything he put him through, but right now at this moment, Peter was all he had.

When he woke up tomorrow he would fight again. He just couldn’t right now. Right now, he let his eyes flutter closed and listened to the heartbeat beating right under his head, strong, steady, steadfast. Lulling him to sleep.

Tomorrow he would fight.

Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!!!!!


	3. Life Now

_Stiles was shivering uncontrollably. Deep, painful shakes that made it feel like his skin was going to shake right off his bones. With every breath, he exhaled puffs of condensation was spilling out. He blinked hard trying not to fall asleep. He rubbed his hands together trying desperately to keep the feeling in them, had had already lost feeling in his feet. Well, that’s not entirely true he could still feel them. They just felt like lumps of ice._

_He was cold. Very, very cold._

_He looked around, he knew this place. His heart sank. No, he didn’t want to do this again._

_Reaching into his pocket he curled his fingers around his keys, allowing the ridged metal to cut into his palm. Pain was good. Pain was better than numbness. Unfortunately, as he shook the metal rattled in his pocket._

_His captor froze._

_Stiles was walking in front of the man, so he didn’t know that until he heard, “Stiles, what do you have?”_

_Stiles stiffened, head turning slightly as muttered, “Nothing.”_

_That was stupid. God, he was so stupid._

_He jumped when he felt a hand land softly on his shoulder. The man leaned in close, causing stiles to tightly close his eyes._

_“Don’t lie to me.”_

_He flinched at the low growl. The guy literally growled. How was that even possible?_

_Because he is not normal. Peter was anything but normal._

_His heart hammered, and he jerked away, but Peter caught his arm. Pulling it roughly out of his pocket, his hand still clenched around his keys. Peter raised a brow before simply plucking the keys out of his fist like it was nothing._

_His mouth went dry, “Give them back!”_

_Peter smirked, “Your car is miles away, Stiles. These can’t help you.”_

_He didn’t care. His father had given him those keys. Keys that had once belonged to his mother for his sixteenth birthday. A gift from both, even though his Mom had been long gone by then. It was one of the few things he had from her and he wanted it back._

_“I don’t care, give it back Asshole!”_

_Now both brows were raised but the man still appeared calm._

_No not calm, calculating._

_“What would you do for them?”_

_He blinked, “What?”_

_Peter stepped forward into the boy’s space, “What would you do to get these useless keys back?”_

_Stiles swallowed his gaze steadfast on the hand Peter had wrapped around the metal._

_He licked dry lips, “Anything.”_

_Peter smiled and for a split second, he swore red flickered in their depths._

_Stiles didn’t want to watch this part. He knew what happened next._

Stiles jerked awake, gasping for air that he knew was in the room but that just didn’t want to fill his lungs. Cold, clammy sweat covered his body, making it more difficult to fight his way out from under the sheets. The bed dipped, and Stiles lurched in the opposite direction, afraid he was going to fall but familiar arms surrounded him. Grounding him. Holding him steady while his mind is in complete chaos.

                “It’s okay. You’re okay. Breath with me, Stiles. You’re okay.”

                Stiles blindly grabbed onto the arms holding him, wanting to believe the words but coming short. His breaths were still escaping him in sobs and half-there screams. His throat felt like sandpaper and the rough sounds escaping from his was not helping. The arms were secure around him. Making it near impossible to move, to fight.

                “Breathe Stiles, slow your heart rate down. Come on, you haven’t had a panic attack in weeks let’s stop it before it gets here.”

                Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

He clutched at the arms holding him tighter, bringing his knees up so that he was in a ball. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. It was a torturous process, every breath he successfully pulled in seemed to hit the bottom of his over-excreted lungs like lava. Burning and searing through until he swore his lungs would just pop like a balloon over an open flame.

“Again Stiles.” The arms shook him when he stopped.

He pulled another breath in, then another, and another. Soon the burning pain dissipated, allowing him to pull more air in with each breath. His heart settled, matching the rhythm of the one underneath his head. He knew who’s it was, being a captive did narrow down the options and knowing made him want to cry. He just wanted his Dad.

Peter held him there until his heartbeat was settled, and his breathing was normal. He was exhausted his eyelids drooping to the steady sound of Peter’s heartbeat. Just as he was about to drift off though, the man jostled him gently.

“Hey, no going back to sleep.”

Stiles groaned, “M’th tired.”

He felt Peter smile against his head, “I know, sleepy head but it’s time to get up.”

Stiles huffed, “It’s Sunday.”

Sunday was sleep-in day and he was so tired.

Peter shook him again, “We talked about this yesterday.”

No, yesterday he had to get up early because Peter had to make a point. He didn’t want to deal with this. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

He whimpered, “Every day?”

Peter rubbed his hair, smoothing the strands away from his face, “Just for a week, but you don’t have to stay in your room.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose, trying to wiggle from Peter’s grip. He knew he wouldn’t be able to break it but fought anyway on principle alone. Peter maintained his grip effortlessly.

Although he couldn’t see it, the boy knew Peter was smiling. Peter seemed to find it amusing to watch Stiles’ attempts at struggling. Probably because they were just attempts. The man was too strong for Stiles to make any real headway.

Stiles remembered the first time Peter held him like this. His first ever nightmare. He had been thrown into a panic attack while he was sleeping. His nightmare feeling so real that his body seemed to believe it too. He had awoken to Peter holding him down trying to facilitate him calming down. He had frozen, holding his breath in fear of what Peter would do which ironically stopped his panic attack. However, his fear was unneeded, Peter simply held him there until he calmed down. Then he held him during the next panic attack and the next. The man seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Stiles. Always knowing when he was close to panic or anger or lying. He always seemed to be able to tell.

After a while, it didn’t seem to matter that Peter was the cause of the attacks, he was always there to help Stiles through them. He always held him tight and calmed him down. Soon Peter’s weight on the bed became normal and the arms surrounding him felt comforting instead of threatening. Don’t get him wrong he still feared Peter, he also trusted him. Peter wasn’t going to hurt Stiles. Not physically anyway.

Stiles glared when he felt fingers run through his hair again. His buzz cut had grown out leaving a mop if hair, that always ended up in his eyes. Peter seemed to like it though. It had been a few nights since a nightmare, so Peter hadn’t been able to mess with his hair for a while.

“If you're forcing me to get up, you’re going to have to let go.” Stiles' voice came out snarky.

Peter tugged his hair, tilting Stiles head back, “Manners, Stiles.”

Stiles stilled, Peter’s neutral tone telling him that he was really pushing his luck.

He blew out a breath, his bangs lifting off his forehead and tried to soften his voice, “Peter please let me up, so I can go pi-”

The hand in his hair tightened warningly, and he rushed to correct himself, “Bathroom! So, I can go to the bathroom!”

That was yet another thing that Peter hated, he hated when Stiles cursed. Peter was allowed to say whatever the hell he wanted but Stiles wasn’t, which was unfair in so many ways. Peter would never hurt Stiles, but he didn’t have to. His punishments were more effective than any punch or kick could ever be.

Peter finally released him. Sliding his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair a final time before nudging the boy off him and rolling effortlessly off the bed.

“Go on then, I am going to start breakfast,” he paused and leveled Stiles with a look as the boy scrambled off the bed with the grace of an up-turned turtle, “-of which you are going to eat all of.”

Stiles had been ignoring him heading towards the bathroom, but he swiveled around and gaped at the man, “I don’t eat breakfast.”

He stated the fact like one would state the weather. Dry and factual, because this was common knowledge.

 He didn’t eat breakfast.

He just wasn’t hungry in the mornings.

That didn’t use to be the case. He used to never go without a meal, he was a growing teenager after all but all that changed. It had changed the moment he heard bacon sizzling on the skillet.

_It sounded a lot like flesh in a fire._

He never could eat breakfast after that. Any kind of breakfast. It didn’t matter what it was, all of it made his stomach churn.

Peter was already walking towards the door, but he turned halfway around, his voice sounding unimpressed, “You’re not skipping another meal, you didn’t eat at all yesterday.”

He was out the door when the last word fell from his lips, Stiles quickly followed him.

“Peter wait!”

The man didn’t stop, “This is not up for discussion, Stiles, you’re eating.”

Stiles scrambled to catch up, “I-“

Abruptly the older man turned, pivoting without warning. This subsequently led to Stiles slamming into him. Peter wrapped his arms around the frail boy to stop him from tumbling back onto his butt.

Holding the boy steady he dipped his chin, staring into his eyes, “You. Are. Eating.”

Stiles gulped, meeting the blazing blue gaze, “I-I…” he stuttered out, but Peter squeezed him. Strong arms tightening in an obvious, ‘shut up’ manner.

“Go get ready, then come downstairs.”

Stiles swallowed again, before gathering his courage and whispering, “I don’t know if I can.”

Peter didn’t blink. He knew Stiles wasn’t talking about getting ready. Peter knew that he was referring to eating. He had been there when the boy first threw up.

It wasn’t just bacon either.

No, Stiles also got sick at the sight of eggs, and toast. After the third instant, the boy had put his foot down, declaring that he would eat anything, _anything_ if he didn’t have to eat breakfast. Stiles didn’t know exactly why but Peter didn’t fight him on his declaration.

_At least not until now._

Peter pulled a soft expression that stiles hated. He hated when it seemed like Peter knew him better then he, himself did. He glared and looked away. Peter didn’t understand shit. It was his fault. All of this was his fault. He didn’t get to act like he cared.

He didn’t care. To Peter, Stiles was nothing more than a distraction. Something to keep him entertained and someday he would grow bored. Bored of the pathetic human he decided to kidnap and take him back home.

Like he promised.

Peter always kept his promises.

Stiles jumped when he felt the arms holding him close, shift. One arm coming up and catching his chin, pulling the boy back to face him. Blue, blazed into wary whiskey brown.

“Just do as I say, Stiles.”

Stiles' heart stuttered but he was lived with Peter for months.

Stiles glared, as he watches the cocky murder walk away, “You’re not the Boss of me!”

Peter simply raised a hand in a smartass wave, “Now Stiles.”

Stiles turned and made it a point to stomp back to his room knowing Peter hated it when he did that. He muttered the whole way back to his room, “Do this Stiles. Do that Stiles. I’m in charge stiles. Do as I say, Stiles. Would it hurt the guy to use some new material?”

“I hear a lot of talking and not a lot of showering!” Peter’s voice called up the stairs.

“You know it’s considered creepy to listen to someone getting ready,” Stiles yelled back.

“You have three seconds to get in the shower, or I’m coming up there.” The warning drifted up.

Stiles grabbed clothes from his closet and headed to the bathroom, shouting “Creepy!” before slamming the door loudly. Peter also hated it when he slammed doors.

Stiles made it a point to do it often.

                Stiles started the shower but made no move to get into it. He normally took long showers, so it wouldn’t be too surprising that he took a while. This was honestly the only time Stiles was ever allowed to be alone, with the exceptions of when Peter left for ‘work’ or whatever he did in the days.

                Sure, there are times Peter left the room, but the man had freakish hearing. It was abnormal. Beyond abnormal. No normal human would be able to hear somebody muttering from upstairs when they were downstairs, but Peter had.

                _No normal person was able to heal burns on their face either, but Peter had._

                 Padding to the mirror, Stiles looked at his own face. He had only been gone for a few months, yet he looked so different. His buzz cut had grown out leaving a mop of brown hair covering his forehead. Stiles had once asked if Peter would get him gel or something to help him style it, or at least something so he could get it out of his eyes. Peter had pulled a sour face and refused. Stating something about not liking the smell.

                His eyes, which used to by constantly bloodshot and have bags under them, now were crystal clear. The dark circles had dissipated at some point as well. Stiles leaned against the countertop.

It didn’t make sense.

Before Peter Stiles could eat whatever, he wanted, in fact, he used to spend most of his time eating. He used to be able to get a decent night of sleep without waking up screaming. Hell, he used to do lacrosse. That was active! Why did it seem like he looked better now than he did before?

He sighed running fingers through his hair and turned towards the shower. He was running out of time, Peter really would come up here if he took too long. Shedding his clothes he chucked them over to the hamper smiling when the bundle cleared the side of it. His aim was getting better, it’s a shame he missed the rest of the lacrosse season.

Scotty would have been proud. They had worked the entire summer on their throws, well Scott had anyway. His friend had been determined that he would make first-line this year and he had. Stiles had mainly spent the summer practicing for moral support. It had been worth it though, every sweaty minute of it.

He stepped into the shower, closing his eyes and enjoying feeling the hot water pour over him. He ran fingers through his hair and let his arms rest against the solid white tiles. Leaning his forehead against his arms lavished the feeling of the high-water pressure. It was drumming down his shoulders seeming to hit all the right spots. The tightness in his shoulders lessened and he breathed a little easier.

Finishing up his shower, Stiles stepped out and dried off, walking into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist he pulled on a pair of sweats and a blue shirt. Normally Peter required him to but ‘proper’ clothes on, but today was Sunday and if he wasn’t allowed to sleep in then he was damn well wearing comfy clothes. He didn’t care what ‘His Majesty’ said.

Before leaving the room, he made sure to through the towel in the hamper. Then he walked down the hall and trudged down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen. He stopped right outside the door the smell of eggs making his stomach churn.

_He could do this._

He gnawed on his lip, stomach rolling in dangerous churns. Stiles knew he didn’t have a choice here. He never did. Peter had control over everything. He controlled when Stiles woke up in the morning, what he could wear, how he spent his time, when he went to bed, and when he ate. Stiles hated feeling out of control. Lately, it felt like control wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

His stomach rolled again, and he took a step back.

_He couldn’t do this._

The smell was drifting around him and he could hear the sizzling of the bacon from where he was standing. Sizzling bacon. It was amazing how sizzling flesh sounded exactly the same. His heartbeat went up and stiles took another step back.

“Stiles,”

He jumped, hands twisting in the hem of his shirt, “Yes?”

“In here, now.” There was a hint of warning in his voice.

He swallowed and walked into the kitchen.

Peter was leaning against the countertop, exactly like he was yesterday.

Stiles stood in the middle of the doorway, uncertain his hands still twisted in his shirt. He looked away from Peter toward were the broken TV was yesterday. It was gone, the floor was spotless like yesterday never happened. Stiles' hands twisted further into his shirt and he shifted on his feet.

“Come sit down.”

Stiles stepped forward and scrambled onto his stool, one the three that sat around the table. He could feel Peter’s gaze on him but honestly, the boy was trying to focus all his attention on not hearing the food cook, not smelling it either.

Peter sighed, and Stiles listened to him move around the kitchen, the fridge door opening, then closing. He jumped when a carry-out container was set in front of him. Surprised the boy looked up.

Peter was back at the stove, but he looked over his shoulder at him, “I brought food last night, you’re lucky I didn’t make you eat it then.”

Stiles smiled a little and picked up the fork that was already sitting next to his hand. Opening the Chinese container, he dug into the orange chicken. Sitting on the stool, Stiles made a conscious effort to ignore everything around him. He poured all his attention on eating the cold take-out food.

That was one of the few things he actually liked about having ADHD. The ability to be hyper-focused. He could drown everything out. Peter, the smell of eggs and bacon, the sound coming from the frying pan, until all that was left was his breathing and the taste of the food.

He was about three-quarters done with the container when his focused was snapped.

Shredded beyond compare.

He was mid-chew when a rumbling sound reached his ears and he stilled. The half-chewed food sat heavy in his mouth as the rumbling got louder and louder.

_It’s okay. It’s just somebody taking a Sunday morning drive. They must have gotten lost, it’s fine._

He stiffed when the rumbling got louder and louder until there was no denying who it was. Stiles swallowed down the food that now felt uneatable and looked up at Peter. Peter was watching him from across the counter.

He rolled his eyes at the look stiles gave him. “Don’t give me that crap, you knew he was coming home sometime.”

Stiles' heart started to beat a little faster, “You didn’t say it was today.”

The man shrugged like literally shrugged, “I only found out this morning, right before you, my dear pup had a nightmare. It must have slipped my mind.”

Stiles gripped his fork harder, causing the metal to bite into his palm, “How could you have forgotten?!”

His words came out accusatory, but he wasn’t quite sure what he was accusing Peter of.

Hiding it.

Lying to him.

Neither of these felt right.

Peter’s eyes narrowed, “Careful, you don’t want to get into more trouble.”

Stiles clenched his teeth as his heartbeat shot up, the rumbling had stopped, meaning that the engine had turned off.

He turned in the direction of the front door even though he couldn’t see it, “You said no solitary.”

Peter stood up ruffling Stiles hair as he passed, “We’ll see, pup.”

Stiles ducked out from underneath the hand and jumped off his stool whirling on Peter, “You’re going to tell him?!”

Peter raised his brow at the boy, “Yes.”

Stiles’ anxiety was back at full force, “Why? He doesn’t need to know.”

Peter crossed his arms, “I’m not going to lie to him.”

Stiles flailed his hands, “Then don’t lie, just don’t say anything,”

Peter regarded him, one eyebrow still in the air, “The flat-screen television that used to be in the living room is now gone, he isn’t stupid, pup. That’s not going to work.”

Stiles glared at him, “Well it still would be in there if you hadn’t destroyed it.”

Peter stilled, and his gaze darkened, Stiles didn’t back down either.

Neither of them moved until the front door opened, Peter turned towards the sound then flashed Stiles a look.

“If I were you, I would sit down and finish your food, quietly.”

Stiles didn’t make a move. Still glaring at the man.

Peter held his gaze as he walked closer to the boy stopping directly in front of him, “Or you can stand here and explain to him why you are eating last night’s meal today.”

Stiles stiffened, breaking eye contact to look back at the food on the counter.

Peter continued towards the front door, just as the sound of it swinging shut cleared the kitchen, “Tick tock, pup.”

Stiles dove towards the counter and started shoving the rest of the cold chicken into his mouth. Better to have the man mad at him for one thing then for not eating, which is stupid. What kidnapper cared if his kidnap-ey had eaten?

It made no sense.

Shoving the last piece of chicken and rice into his mouth, Stiles hurried over to the trash and buried it.  All the while listening to voices that were getting closer to the kitchen. He felt like a kid waiting for his dad to get home, so he could yell at him a second time.

He listened to the voices and winced when the feet stopped by the living room.  Normally, Stiles would have a hard time hearing a footstep, mainly because Peter never made a sound, but now that there was a second pair of footsteps he could track them better. Voices rumbled too low for Stiles to catch any words. They were so good at that, seeming to know exactly what volume to measure their voices out so that it was below his range of hearing.

Stiles leaned against the sink, gazing out the window. The kitchen window held the same view his room had on the second floor, trees. As far as the eye could see, in every direction surrounding the property was trees. He sighed raising the hand that wasn’t braced on the counter to rub his ear trying to block-out the muffled words of this captives.

He should have known better than to have taken Peter’s promise of no solitary on face value; he had probably said it just to get stiles to cooperate with him. He hadn’t promised when he said it, and he had learned over the months that if Peter doesn’t specifically say the words, “I promise-” then it really didn’t mean anything, but he had been so tired this morning. Tired enough to believe that he meant it, that maybe he wouldn’t be forced to stare at the walls of his room and go slowly insane.

Dragging the fingers still rubbing absently at his ear across his cheek, he rubbed at his eye before dropping it down to the counter so that both of his arms were braced on either side of the sink. Eyes never leaving the image the swaying trees created for him. They were pretty. Each leaf adding color and vivacity to the others surrounding it. He wished people could be more like that, doing their part to add to the world. Sometimes it felt like all people do anymore is destroy things; however, he lives with un-convicted felons so maybe his current view is a little biased.

Leaves started blowing off the trees as a strong gust of wind came through, sending a torrid of leaves swirling around the house, winding between tree trunks, and getting caught in neighboring trees branches. Stiles stared transfixed, as another gust blew through, wondering if a storm was coming. He loved storms.

“Stiles”

His trance shattered and the muscles in his shoulders bunched up, but he didn’t look away from the pretty leaves that swirled around in a miniature tornado. He never saw those back home, tornadoes aren’t a real issue in California. He guessed he was relatively far from home.  

He drummed his fingers against the counter-top, forcing his attention on the matter at hand, “mmhm?”

He knew they were both in the kitchen, even though he couldn’t see them. It was a feeling he had, one that he only got when both his captors were present.

Peter spoke next, “You know better than to ignore us, pup.”

He sounded exasperated.

“Maybe he’s ashamed because he knows he did something wrong.”

Stiles gritted his teeth but didn’t engage the light mocking voice. That’s he wanted. He wanted Stiles to get riled up and turn around, but the boy didn’t bite. He stayed silent and drummed his fingers again.

“He knows that he shouldn’t have done it, and now he feels bad.”

Again, Stiles didn’t move, the only thing giving away his rising anger, was his tapping finger which was slowly gaining speed.

“As he should.”

 Finally turning around Stiles came face to face with his second captor.

His eyes clashed with almost painful blue eyes as he gritted out, “I. Didn’t. Do. Anything. Wrong.”

Christopher Argent, kidnapping extraordinaire, met his gaze with hard eyes, “Now, we both know that’s not true, right Stiles?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!   
> Hope you like it!  
> Let me know your thoughts!


	4. The Thunder Rolls

Stiles met the gaze head on, he was tired both physically and emotionally and just wanted this to be over with. One good thing about being secluded in his bedroom for a week was he could sleep as much as he wanted which was usually a lot. What could he say, he liked being asleep.

Peter leaned a shoulder against the wall, eyes watching, seeming to take in the entire situation.

Stiles leaned back against the counter, pulling a face, “What did you expect me to do?”

Chris’s brow remained high, “What did I expect you to do?”

Stiles shrugged, “Yeah,” he crossed his arms, ass still leaning against the sink, “You knew my Dad was going to be on the news yesterday, what did you expect me to do?”

Blue eyes softened a smidgen at the boy’s emotionless voice, “You know the rules, this is the fourth time breaking them.”

Stiles closed his eyes and let his head hang down for a minute. He was sick of the rules, sick of everything they embody, and sick of being the obedient little puppy that always obeyed. He was done.  Lifting his head, he squared his shoulders and spoke in a level voice, “And the minute you get another TV I’m going to do it again; I will stop at nothing to see my father again.”

Chris blinked in surprise, Stiles didn’t blame him. The boy had never ever challenged Chris’s authority before, preferring to snark at Peter. Peter tended to be calm most of the time, appearing almost normal for long stretches, until Stiles pushed the envelope too far then he would snap and growl. Therefore, the boy was pretty at ease with him, barely hesitating before letting a sarcastic comment fly or arguing against an order.

Chris was the exact opposite.

Christopher Argent was hard. Every inch of him was rock hard with little to no give. Peter and he made a fantastic pair, Chris with his no-nonsense standards seemed to match flawlessly with Peter’s ability to conform to any surrounding he finds himself in. Both their strengths paired off with each other, allowing no room for weaknesses. Stiles would know he searched fruitlessly for just a single weakness, one that he could use to his advantage to escape. Seeing that he is still here it didn’t go so well.

The softness fled Chris’s gaze, leaving solid blue steel in its wake, “Well Friday was the last time you will see him for a long while, you made sure of that.”

 “Goddammit! Just take me home!” Stiles pushed off from the countertop and flailed his hands, “What is the fucking point of fucking keeping me here?!”

Chris didn’t move or flinch as the boy flailed, just stayed irritatingly calm and cocked his head back towards the door, “Upstairs. Now.” There was no fluctuation in his voice, just steady authority.

Stiles felt helplessness rise in him bubbling up like it had yesterday his fist clenched. Again, his feelings shifted, and it felt like solitary was something he couldn’t handle. He started trembling, as he shook his head; stepping towards the backyard door. It was just to the right of the sink, so close to where he was standing.

“No.”

The atmosphere instantly shifted in the kitchen, Peter pushed off the wall moving to stand right behind Chris. Chris crossed his arms, eyes never leaving his ward, and spoke in a measured tone, “Now. Stiles.”

Again, the boy shook his head, letting a slightly hysterical laugh seep out, “No! I said no!”

His hand grasped the doorknob holding it in a death grip, desperate to just get out; to just get away.

 For a moment no one moved, they just squared off. Stiles usually didn’t do this, he had spent the last few months being a picture-perfect captive and even if he snarked at Peter he would never question Chris. Ever.

He hadn’t fought them because he figured that if he listened, followed most of the rules, and didn’t try to escape, they would let him go home. However, now he was done. He was done listening. Done following. Done _waiting!_

Two pairs of blue eyes bore into him, one calculating and the other sharp like a hawk.

“Think about what you are doing, pup.” Peter placed a hand on Chris’s shoulder and stepped around him, bring him closer to Stiles.

Stiles gulped and gripped the door tighter, watching the man’s every breath with wary eyes.

“You run out that door, where are you going to go?”

                Stiles’ wary gaze never wavered, he watched as Peter walked calmly to the counter and perched on a stool; one of his arms dropping between his legs the other resting lightly into the counter.

He grabbed Stiles’ half drank glass of water, from breakfast and took a sip, “You don’t know where you are, don’t even know the country? So, if – and it is and if –  you somehow by some miracle get away from both Christopher and I, what is your plan?”

_Had he just country?_

No, that’s not right, he-

They were still in the States, they had to be. His mind started to race, thoughts buzzing through it faster than he could fully comprehend. That didn’t make sense he watched TV he would know if they had left the country. Right?

Only the network he usually watched was the worldwide news channel, but the commercials were the same. That had to mean something.

Stiles flicked his gaze over to Chris, who was still standing stock-still, an unreadable slightly scary expression on his face. Surely Peter wasn’t telling the truth. He can’t be.

The man in question, cocked a brow at the boy, “mmhm? I mean, you’re a clever one; you’d  have to have a plan.”

He paused for a minute only to continue when Stiles, remained silent.

“I mean obviously you would try to find help, but I don’t know if you noticed, we happen to be little secluded out here.”

Stiles shivered, an unnatural coolness falling over his skin causing goosebumps to pop up all over his skin; setting him even further on edge.

“So, what do you think the odds would be for you to find someone? Find them before thirst or hunger begins to overtake you, and you start to slow down against your better judgment. How long do you think it will take for nature to hinder you just enough, for us to catch up to you?”

Peter tilted his head, eyes glinting from the soft glow of the overhead kitchen light. Shining in a way that they almost appeared crimson.

"And, just to be clear, we would catch up to you. No matter how far out you got we would eventually find you."

Peter calmly tipped back the rest of the water before dropping the hand holding the cup into his lap, so he could twirl the glass around with both hands, eyes never leaving his.

“Then we would have to drag your sorry ass back here, and let’s be honest there won’t be much patience left for when we get back.”

He flipped the glass catching it in one hand, before calmly placing it back onto the counter, “I think solitary would be the last of your worries by then.”

Stiles gulped, gaze flickering back and forth between the both of them, trying to read how serious they were only for both to gaze back with severe eyes and somber expressions. After a minute of thought, he turned around and briefly looked out at the overcast sky and billowing wind. Part of him wanted to say ‘fuck you’ to them both and try to run but who was he kidding? He wouldn’t last two days out there.

Hell, the one time he went camping with boy scouts he had somehow managed to get the whole troupe lost single handily. Then had proceeded to convince the troupe leader that they should follow the river which within itself wasn’t a bad plan if there had been a river. He still remembered the slightly embarrassed look his father had worn when he and parks services found the boys one night later, but he still hugged Stiles tight and whispered ‘good thinking’ into his ear. He quit boy scouts pretty soon after that.

                Slowly his fingers released their grip on the door, hand falling uselessly to his side before turning around and facing his abductors.

                Peter nodded at him, “Good boy.”

Stiles flushed, eyes dropping to the ground as he clenched his teeth.

Chris spoke next, softer than before, “Your room, let’s go.”

He shuffled forward, ignoring them both and walked out of the kitchen, towards his bedroom. He climbed the stairs two at a time trying to put some distance between himself and them. Not that it worked, they easily matched his pace never falling more than a step behind him. Once in his room he crossed his arms and waited.

Chris entered his room, while Peter leaned on the door frame arms folded loosely. Chris looked around taking before squaring a look at Stiles, “You know the drill, give us the books and the games.”

Stiles shoulders slumped, guess they're going the whole nine yards.

He walked around the room, gathering up the books that he had stacked around his bed and by the window seal. There wasn’t an abundance of them, nowhere near as many as he had at home, but over the four months he had been here and however long he had been gone before that, he was able to acquire quite a collection. He stacked them up before carrying them over to Peter, who took them from him. Then he went over to his desk, pulling out a box and began to put away a half-finished game of chess. He then stacked a deck of cards, a matching game, and checkers on top. Handing the games to Chris he went and stared out the window, ignoring the man as he walked passed to take the games away.

Two minutes later they both were back in the room, standing shoulder to shoulder. Stiles didn’t have to turn because their reflections were distinct against the glass of the window.

Chris placed his hands on his waist, “You hiding anything?”

Stiles leaned his head against the glass and scoffed.

Was he hiding anything? What a stupid question. No, he wasn’t hiding anything, he didn’t have anything to hide.

Leaves were swirling again, so he watched them as he answered with a simple, “No.”

Above the house thunder rumbled, alluding to the fact that it was going to storm, just like Stiles had suspected. At least there would be something interesting to focus on. There was silence in the room, with both staring at him and stiles ignoring them to stare angerly out the window.

Chris rolled his eyes at the boy’s antics, “Peter informed me that he agreed to no solitary for you.”

Stiles turned slightly, eyeing the two men. The sentence wasn’t stated like a question, so Stiles waited it out.

Chris met his gaze, “You’re not in solitary, you can leave this room as much as you want.”

Stiles stared at the man in shock, his brow furrowing, “But you just took all my stuff.”

An eyebrow rose, “I said you weren’t in solitary, I didn’t say you weren’t grounded.”

Stiles glared at the condescending voice, his mouth running off before he could control it, “So I can now be bored around the entire house instead of just in here, gee thanks!”

Peter growled, like freakin’ growled at him, “I wouldn’t push your luck pup, not after the stunt you just pulled downstairs.”

Stiles swallowed at the growl and stepped back so he was basically up against the window, still glaring at them both, but now resoundingly silent.

Chris lifted a hand, placing it on his partner in crime(literally)’s shoulder, “We’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and pointedly turned back toward the window. He might not be brave enough to sass them out loud again but that didn’t mean he didn’t have other ways of getting his thoughts across. Seconds later they were both gone, leaving Stiles alone with nothing to do except stare at the window. Thunder rolled again, then lightning flashed across the horizon, the sky now a purple—blueish color. Stiles rested his head against the cool glass and watched as more lightning crisscrossed the skyline. The wind has steadily picked up speed rattling against the window, trying to get in.

Stiles reached out with a few sharp motions yanked the window open as much as he was able to. After his attempt at climbing out the window, Chris had “fixed” the window; fixed, meaning it now only opened about six inches, but it was enough. Enough for the wind to sweep into the room bringing with it the crisp smell of outdoors. Walking away from the window he grabbed his desk chair and nabbed his pillow off his bed before making his way back to his original spot.

Placing down the chair, Stiles sat as close as he could get to the window and placed his pillow on the seal, resting his arms on the pillow and cushioning his head on his arms. After a few minutes of wiggling, he settled, watching the lightning and listening to the thunder. The wind was brushing his face with cool air and once the rain started falling, it brought with it, small drops of moisture. Stiles listened and watched, drowning out everything but the storm.

Soon his eyes began to droop, the stress of the last few days crashing over him and the hypnotic sounds of the storm and cool air of the gales surrounding him lulling him to sleep. He willingly shut his eyes allowing unconsciousness to take over, praying that for once he didn’t have a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo, what do y'all think???
> 
> Please, leave your thoughts!!!
> 
> I love hearing from you all!!


	5. Vanishing Nightmares

 Chapter five: Vanishing Nightmares 

 

Images were swimming around Stiles' head faster than he could grab onto one

He was confused.

Could he be confused in his own dream? Should he be?

He saw Peter, eyes wild and hair longer than he had ever really seen it. Wait, he was saying something, his mouth moving but…

He was gone, replaced by a huge bonfire. Bright orange, red, and even blue flames eating at the wood as smoke billowed everywhere. Burning Stiles' eyes and clogging his throat until he was gasping for breath. No, that wasn’t a bonfire; it was too big. The firewood created a structure that Stiles couldn’t make out behind the burning flames.

_…Hale house…_ The words were nothing but a whisper, a sliver of sound just barely there for him to hear.

That’s right, though. It’s the Hale house. Peters old house, where his family had died. Why did they die?

Suddenly the image shifted again, leaving Stiles surrounded by blurs and muffled sounds. In the blurs Stiles saw his dad, he was decked out in full uniform looking sad. He reached out, “Dad…”

However, the image was gone before the word left his lips, swiftly changing before suddenly solidifying into a woman. She could be what you called pretty if it weren’t for her eyes. They were cold and hard.

Stiles dropped his hand and tilted his head.

He knew her. It was Kate!

Kaitlyn Andrews. She was new in town, moved in only a couple months ago. She was nice enough but obviously a loner. She didn’t seem to like people. Especially not cops, that much was clear when stiles and his father had tried to welcome her to town.

… _Argent, Kate Argent…_

 She moved, swiftly reaching behind her and pulling out a gun aiming directly at him.

                Stiles shook his head staring at her because… that wasn’t right… her name was Kate Andrews.

_Was. Was. Was?_

Stiles stumbled back as a clawed hand appeared from the blackness surrounding her and sliced her throat open. Stiles stumbled back gasping.

He watched in horror as blood gurgled up out of her mouth, he lurched forward to help but just as he took a step there was a distorted “BANG!” he gasped in a breath as he watched a red spot bloom in the center of her forehead before her head flew back. Blonde hair cascading around her as she fell back, body seeming to crumple into itself as it fell to the floor.

He gasped, trying desperately to pull air into his lungs without seeming to actually inhale any of it. He couldn’t breathe. Panic started to worm its way into his body as he struggled. He wanted it all to stop.

The voice seemed to get louder around him.

_…Kate Argent… Argent, Chris Argent… Chris and Peter… Peter Hale… Hale… Fire…_

Letting soft sob, he slammed his hands over his ears, still trying to pull in a breath, “It’s just a dream, Stiles.” It was like the words were torn out of him. Yelled desperately into the darkness, where the only things around were the dead body of Ms. Andrews and whatever killed her.

_…Fire… Wolf… Kate…Fire… Wolf…Pack…_

“This isn’t real, Stiles.” His knees crumpled underneath him, causing his trembling body to slam to the ground. He pressed his hands harder into his head as the voice was getting louder. The words speeding up each one seeming to hammer its way into his skull.

_…Fire…Bodies…Children…Family…Burned…Dead…Accident…_

Tears that he didn’t know where falling started to stream down his face and his voice was coming out in broken gasping sobs. “It’s all in your head.”

_…Survivors…Brother…Sister….Children…Pet-_

“So, Wake up stiles.”

_…Accident…Accident…Accident?..._

“Wake up, Stiles.” His voice got louder as he squeezed his eyes tighter. The voices continued to hammer into him. Hammer. Hammer. Hammer.

Louder. Louder. Louder.

Driving nails into his skull. The hands pressing over his ears turned into a fist in his hair as he bent over still on his knees. Curling into himself.

_…Accident?... No… Murder…bodies…Dead…_

His eyes flashed open, vision fading in and out Ms. Andrews lifeless body fading in and out. The voices rising. Always rising, screaming at him.

He can’t take it. He can’t breathe, heartbeat pounding harder and harder against his rib cage until he was sure it was going to break something. 

 He slammed his hands down on the floor as hard as he could, eyes still on the lifeless corpse and screamed, “WAKE UP!”

…

Silence descended so suddenly that his gasping breaths seemed overly loud in the stillness. Sinking further into the floor, he brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms securely around them. He almost believed that if he held tight enough that he could keep himself from falling apart. Almost.

Sniffing, he wiped his tears off by rubbing his cheek on his shoulder. He was still staring at the girl. “Please wake up, Stiles. Please.”

He jerked as the ground shifted and the area around him moved violently like so many times before. He closed his eyes only to open again to darkness.

Complete darkness.

Stiles' nails dug into his arms, from where they were still wrapped around his legs. He didn’t like the dark.

He let out a scream as a cold grip settled on his arms and yanked back pulling him back. Dragging him. Where was he going?

Then a voice spoke, “Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff’s boy.”

He knew that voice. He started to tremble violently.

The voice spoke again, saying only three words. Three simple words.

And Stiles screamed,

                                                           ___________________________

“Stiles! Stiles! It’s okay!

Arms were wrapped around him, pinning him down when his brain was yelling at him. Broadcasting loudly that he had to get away. Run. Hide. Do anything he needed to so that he was far away from _him_.

He squeezed his eyes tighter; refusing to open them, scared of what be he might see and clawed at the arms holding him. Nails digging into flesh, back arched off the bed from the force of his legs kicking violently into the mattress and tangling in the sheets.

He needed to get away.

However, no matter how hard Stiles struggled and fought the arms surrounding his writhing body never so much as twitched. They stayed steadfastly locked, solid. The hold unbreakable.

The hair around his ears ruffled as the man spoke again, “Stiles, pup you're all right. Clam down”

The words were commanding but he shook his head anyway.

Stiles shook his head back and forth, fingernails digging harder into the arms that were holding him still, breaths still coming out in pants, whimpers, and half-there screams. No, nothing was alright. He had to get out of there. He had to get away.

The man behind him growled and tightened his hold almost making it hard for Stiles to breath, before shouting,  “Chris hurry the fuck up!”

Wait, Chris?

Was he afraid of Chris?

That didn’t seem right.

It was after that query, that he finally opened his eyes. Still automatically fighting the constrictive hold wrapped around his body but at least taking in his surroundings.

It took him blinking a couple of times but finally, the navy-blue walls of his bedroom swam into focus. He swiveled his head around trying to locate…

What was he looking for?

He jerked when the door of his bedroom which was left ajar, swung open; causing light from the hallway to sweep into the room as Chris walked quickly in, “I’m here, I got it.”

Stiles stopped fighting slightly when he saw what _it_ was. _It_ was a syringe filled with what stiles knew from experience was a sedative. His heart which had started to settle slightly started to pound again. He withdrew his nails from who he now identified as Peter’s arm but continued to pull at it insistently if unsuccessfully.

He licked his lips and gasped. “-ait, guys”

Chris stilled, faltering slightly, his eyes going over Stiles’ head to Peter.

Stiles was still panting slightly and twisting against the hold, but whatever he had dreamed that had caused him to me this upset had already fled his memory. Leaving him unbalanced with no idea why he was so upset. He gulped in another breath still trying to deal with the adrenalin and fear that still coursed through him.

Yeah, the dream was gone.

The emotion that it inevitably brought with it? Not so much.

Chris and Peter were still sharing a look. Seeming to communicate silently to each other in a way that never ceased to put Stiles on edge. Although, right now he wasn’t sure how further on edge he could be without falling into… what madness. He wasn’t sure.

For that moment, the only sound penetrating the room was the rough sound of Stiles breath then Peter shifted from behind him. He let go with one arm and reached up to gently cup around Stiles' forehead and brush away the sticky sweating strands of his hair. Meanwhile, Chris walked over and sat down on the edge of his bed.

Stiles watched him wearily, trying to wiggle away from Peter now that he only had one arm wrapped around him. 

He shivered involuntarily as Peter spoke directly into his ear, causing his hair to ruffle.

“It's only going to make you go to sleep.”

He jerked his head to the side trying to put some space between him and his kidnapper. This proved to be a bad idea because while he was distracted, Chris reached out and snagged one of the hands he still had pulling at Peter’s arm. Pulling it out straight so that the underside was facing up.

“No” Stiles simultaneously tried to yank his arm free and sit up. Both of these actions got him no-where.

Chris held his arm in an iron-like grip, while the hand that had been previously gently combing through Stiles' hair became firm on the boy’s forehead. Effectively pinning his head securely to Peter’s shoulder.

“Stop! Really I’m fine guys.”

Peter hushed him gently and Stiles whimpered helplessly as Chris brought the syringe closer with practiced ease.

Chris turned and pinned him with his ice blue gaze, “We both know you aren’t going to go back to sleep tonight, you never sleep after a nightmare, stiles and you definitely won’t after one like that.”

Stiles yanked again, squirming with all his might as the helplessness that had been slowly creeping into his body seemed to consume him. He had forgotten. Had forgotten that he didn’t have a say. It didn’t matter how much he fought, talked, or pleaded. They were going to do whatever they wanted.

Just as he was thinking that Chris sank the needle into his arm. He jerked reflectively against Peter and glared at Chris in helpless anger. Tears of frustration began to well up in his already swollen eyes.

This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

He glared harder at Chris, seething, “I hate you.”

Chris pulled the needle out and tossed it onto the dresser before stroking Stiles arm lightly. “Just go to sleep Stiles.”

He tried to fight it. Just like he always did but soon his eyelids started to droop, and his breath naturally evened out. Matching up with Peter’s. He mumbled, “I don’t want to.”

Peter pressed a kiss against his head, “It’s okay, pup, we’re here.”

Stiles let his eyes close, shivering slightly as everything went dark. He didn’t like the dark.

“Don’t leave me alone.” The words slipped out. Partly because he was already half asleep and partly because when it came to it, even though these guys stole him. Dragged him away from everything he loved, he had grown to trust that they would never let anything hurt him.

He wondered where that trust came from?

Chris squeezed his arm gently and reassuringly, “Never.”

Peter kissed his hair again, “We’ll keep you safe, Stiles.”

                                                        _________________________                          

 

“-had another one last night.”

“They’re happening again.”

Stiles squeezed his eyes tighter. Stirring slightly only to settle down when Peter combed a hand reassuringly through his hair. Chris looked on with worried eyes as the boy, who both he and Peter had grown to care about very much settled down, nuzzling gently deeper into Peter’s chest with a trust he only displayed while unconscious.

Chris new his Partner. Had fought side by side with him, _for him_ , for years, so he could plainly see the worry broadcasted on his features. He looked lost like he wasn’t sure what to do. That worried Chris the most because Peter always had a plan or scheme up his sleeve.  

He watched as the born wolf sighed, “I thought they were getting better.”

Chris let out a sigh, “Can you-“

“No, Chris. This would be the third time. We’re lucking I didn’t cause him brain damage the last two times I did it.”

“It would at least stop this.”

“I said no,” Peter growled it, eyes flashing blood red in a way that he would never do if Stiles was awake.

“Do you realize what will happen if we don’t?”

Peter sighed, continuing to run gentle fingers through the boy’s hair. Yeah, he knew what would happen. It was the exact thing both he and Chris had been dreading since the night they all went on the run. Being hunted from both the law and hunters. It was the one thing that could potentially bring their world crashing down around them.

“He will remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, Y'ALL!!!!
> 
> I just want to say thank you so much for your support and understanding about the writing. I am still going through something tough and haven't had a lot of time to write. That being said, I love this story! the ideas and plot line are forming nicely and I can't wait to hear from all of you!
> 
> Thank you again for your support!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!!!!
> 
> It's me!!!
> 
> I have a new fic idea to share with you guys! It's a little darker than the ones I am currently working on but I hope you like it all the same. 
> 
> As always I love you guys and would love to hear from ya!  
> Thoughts, comments, concerns, let me know!
> 
> Thanks!!!!


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